The Witch of Roanoke Ridge
by rokkenbosche
Summary: Arthur doesn't believe the claims on the bounty poster, but 500 isn't something he can turn down. And because nothing in his life is simple, it turns into more than just a bounty hunt.


He found himself stifled once again in the close heat of Saint Denis. He hated it, really, worse'n the constant goddamn snow of the Grizzlies. The swamp air made everything stick to him, his poor horse sweaty and heaving after the shortest trips. Blood clung tacky between his fingers from the buck he'd skinned just outside Rhodes. He wanted nothing more than a good meal and a long bath after four days on the road. He didn't have much to bring back to camp, either. No sense hurrying.

Arthur meandered through the near-empty streets. It was raining when he first crossed the polluted marsh water at the southern edge of the city, and though it had stopped people seemed reluctant to come outside. Better that way, Calliope still wasn't used to the bustle of a city and spooked whenever a cart got too close.

She skittered to the side and Arthur apologized to the wagon driver as he passed.

"Easy there, girl, you're alright."

Calliope snorted and stomped a hoof, but Arthur felt her breathing slow against his knees.

He stopped in front of the nicer saloon and tucked Calliope off the main road, made sure to brush her down and give her a few treats before heading inside. Didn't have anywhere better to be, at this point. No leads, no friends in the city. Just heat and mud and gators and those creepy bastards with machetes.

Calliope shoved her nose between Arthur's coat and his satchel. He scratched between her eyes and held out one last sugar cube and hitched her lead to the post.

He'd lost track of time worse'n he'd lost his money at that damn poker table. Close to midnight when he finally threw his cards down and called it a night. The other men gave him good natured jibes as he stalked out of the saloon.

Calliope wickering to him was a welcome interruption.

"Ah, I'm sorry girl," he murmured to her as he absently pet her neck. Wondered if he should head back out and try to hunt some gators before tucking tail and returning to camp. Gone a week and hadn't even drummed up any good leads. . . .

The ground wobbled beneath Arthur. Right, he'd been drinking—probably why he'd lost so bad. He tried to count what was left of his stack of cash but his fingers fumbled the bills, crumpled them. He huffed and apologized to Calliope once again before conceding to rent a room for the night.

\- 0 - 0 - 0 -

The thick heat had chased the rain away sometime before Arthur awoke. He shoved his jacket into his saddlebag while Calliope munched on her morning beets and carrots. Hangover wasn't doing him any favors, and he muttered curses at the sun the entire time he rode the streets at a slow trot. Decided to cut his losses and just head back to camp. Maybe someone else had something they needed some muscle for, and Dutch would forgive his absence.

Arthur swiped a hand down his face, scratched his overgrown beard. Figured he could stop at the barber, weren't far from the snorted as a one-horse cart stopped near them to wait for the streetcar to pass. Arthur spurred her for the barber, absorbed the chatter around him.

". . . .real nasty business out there."

"A witch, though? Really?"

"Saw the poster at the police station when I was unloading the deliveries. Five-hundred, and they want her alive!"

Arthur located the men and hopped from Calliope. " 'Scuse me, gentlemen, you say somethin' 'bout a bounty?"

Arthur shook his head and removed the poster from the wall. "This serious? 'The Witch of Roanoke Ridge?"

**WANTED**

THE WITCH OF ROANOKE RIDGE

For the crimes of Witchcraft, Animal Sacrifice,

Theft, Conspiring With The Devil, Kidnapping and Murder

Last seen West of Annesburg in Roanoke Ridge.

ARMED AND DANGEROUS.

**$500. WANTED ALIVE FOR QUESTIONING**

The lawman sat forward. "Probably want to put that one back, mister. No one's come back alive. Couple of federal marshals came by last week convinced they could get her. Found their bodies strung up in the middle of Annesburg. " The deputy turned the page in his newspaper. "Bunch'a unholy symbols carved into 'em, right mess it's turned out to be. Lot of folks real scared up at the mine."

_Ghosts, vampires, _and _witches? _"You seem to have a lot of unnatural problems around here, mister."

The lawman shrugged. "Had a few kids come in talking about weird lights and strange creatures in the woods west of Van Horn, if you're interested. Poster hasn't been updated yet."

Arthur folded the poster and stuffed it in his satchel. He tipped his hat at the lawman as he exited back into the persistent evening heat. $500 would more than make up for his prolonged absence. Arthur scratched at his face again and tipped his had at the lawman. He went back to his paper.

"Tried to warn you, sir."

He never liked the area around Saint Denis. Didn't care for the entire state of Lemoyne, really. Too hot and full of racists. And gators. The _goddamn gators_. Even Calliope had a hard time around them. Faced down a bear just the week before like it weren't nothing, but soon as she heard that low reptilian hiss, she'd shoot away, Arthur forgotten in her panic.

Arthur rode in sight of the Lannahechee River, enjoyed the cooler air that blew from it. The sun warmed his back and he stuffed his jacket into a saddlebag. Calliope was just as pleased to be away from the swamp and heading back into fresh mountain air. They passed through Van Horn without incident, this time. Calliope tossed her head, stepped high. The smell of dead fish was thick in the air. Arthur wrinkled his nose, decided it would be better to spend the night in Annesburg, hell maybe even just camp.

Pushed on a few hours beyond dusk, pitched his tent at the crest of one of the many steep hills of Roanoke Ridge. Studied the bounty poster while he waited for the rabbit he'd shot to finish cooking through. Wondered what the law considered 'witchcraft,' but with a bounty that high she must've done at least a few awful things.

The rabbit sizzled and popped on the cooking grate. Arthur stabbed his knife into it and ate in big chunks. Calliope nosed her way into his lap, looking for his satchel. She hadn't yet figured out he was keeping the peppermints in the space between his boots and his half-chaps.

Arthur wiped his knife on his pants and crawled back into the tent. An owl glided over the half-moon.

The wind came from nowhere, shook the tent and rattled the trees. A familiar uneasy feeling settled between his shoulders. Cold even through the bedroll, the blanket, his jacket. Voices, far off, something like singing, something like laughter. Like they came from just out of sight and farther off, lurked in the corners of his eyes. Felt the chill tickle of fingers just behind his ears.

Arthur squeezed his eyes shut and hunched into his jacket. Calliope made a concerned noise and shoved her way into the tent, dislodged some of the stakes holding down one side and flopped with her back against Arthur. Knocked the support pole out and the canvas crashed down around them.

It wasn't the first time this had happened. Arthur didn't laugh, this time; at least Calliope didn't thrash around and kick him, _again_. The munitions wagon was starting to sport hoof-shaped dents Arthur did his best to hide.

Calliope patiently waited for Arthur to untangle her. He felt eyes on his back. Shuddered. The wind screamed around them with promises of a storm and something else.

Thought he saw a flash of pale skin dart between the trees. The fire sputtered and died. Calliope was back on her feet, not a care in the world.

Arthur sat on the mess of his tent and pulled his knees up to his chest and didn't sleep.

\- 0 - 0 - 0 -

He had to cut off the main path in order to reach the area "The Witch" was last seen. The underbrush came almost up to Arthur's knees where he sat on Calliope, and the trees grew close enough she almost didn't fit between them. After what felt like hours, but couldn't have been since the sun had hardly moved, the trees opened up and he could see what may have once been a path up to a homestead. The cabin didn't look fit to live in. Vines covered most of it, blocked out the windows. Holes gaped in the sagging roof.

Calliope pulled on her reins as they waded through the brush. She'd been uppity since the city, the wagons and the crowds always making her nervous. Usually she settled once they were back in the open, but she had been nervous ever since they started the steep climb up the Ridge.

The wind picked up again and Arthur swore he heard voices carried on it. Refused to look around for a pale face with no eyes.

He dismounted Calliope just outside the circle of broken-down fence. She was nervous enough he actually hitched her to the mouldering wood. She was not shy about her displeasure, and nipped at his coat as he moved away.

"Hush now, girl." He held a peppermint out to her. Calliope just stared at him, unblinking, not even acknowledging the treat. After a long, long moment, she huffed and swept the sweet from his palm. Arthur pet along her blaze, and turned back to the cabin.

He figured some of the claims on the poster were exaggerated, 'specially this far south. He'd seen plenty of things folk were quick to call _witchcraft_ just cuz they didn't understand how it worked. Least the murder was confirmed by the bodies of the marshals; that by itself should've been enough to land this "witch" with a high bounty.

Arthur paused just in front of the sunken porch. The poster didn't have a name, or even a sketch. Weren't sure where to start. The woods around him seemed to hold its breath as he put a hand on the door, ready to shoulder it open.

It was dark inside, darker than it made sense to be with the holes in the roof. A familiar, endless void and Arthur's heart immediately started racing. Arthur fully expected to find it empty, run down as it was, maybe some signs someone had spent a night or two there, long enough to murder and string up two federal marshals.

He eased the door more open and squinted into the black. It smelled of damp moss and woodsmoke and something like the bitter tang of gunpowder, but different. Arthur held his breath, strained to make out any sound, anything, rats, someone hiding way back in a corner.

Inched forward. One foot slid along the wood floor. A loose board creaked.

A flash in the dark, near enough he should've known someone was there. _Stupid, Morgan_. Arthur had enough time to register the look of confusion on the woman's face before her knife pierced him and his world went dark.


End file.
